And To All, A Good Night
by TurkishAngora
Summary: Draco, Pansy, Ron, and Hermione each think they know what they want. But it takes a full moon ritual on the eve of the winter solstice to make them see how wrong they are.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This fic is AU to all the events in HBP, and is set in a fictitious sixth year. This story was originally going to be more serious, but ended up devolving into campy fluff.

This fic is for Svelte Rose. Svelte Rose requested:

Hermione/Draco

Ron/Pansy

No major OOC-ness

A frazzled Harry

Blaise being good and having a crush on Hermione

No Ginny-Sue

_And To All, A Good Night_

'Twas December at Hogwarts – quite windy and cold

On the day when our story begins to unfold.

And should you care to know what will happen (to some)

I shall give a brief preview of what is to come:

Herm is with Ron (but that won't last for long)

And Draco's with Pansy (but that, too, is wrong)

Hot, sexy, Blaise is both love-struck and dazzled

While Harry is very forgetful and frazzled.

And because the mere mention of him makes me sick –

You-Know-Who does not show even _once_ in this fic.

And I'm not sure exactly what "Ginny-Sue" means –

But Ginny is only in one or two scenes.

And so, gentle readers, please listen to me:

Go grab a warm blanket and a hot cup of tea

If you live where I live, then _pretend_ that there's snow

Are you in the mood yet? Okay, then. Let's go!

Hermione Granger pulled back the red velvet drapes and stared pensively out of the common room window in Gryffindor Tower. Snow was falling thickly around Hogwarts castle – so thickly, in fact, that not even the hardiest and most energetic of students wished to be outside romping around. Their two outdoor classes – Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology - had been cancelled for the few days remaining before winter holiday. That was the good news. The bad news was that Quidditch practices had been cancelled as well. Harry and Ron had fast become irritable, being cooped up inside with no way of venting their energy. Truth to tell, Hermione was not far behind them.

It was frustrating being stuck up in the tower. Despite the lateness of the hour – it was nearly one in the morning - she had decided to sneak down into the common room to get away from her roommates, Parvati and Lavender. They had been experimenting with cosmetic charms, and had been casting surreptitious glances at Hermione's hair for several minutes before she realized that – out of sheer boredom – she was likely to let them charm her hair purple, or cut it up to her ears.

So it was good, really, that she was now down here by herself. But now that she was here, there was nothing to _do_ exactly. Hermione wished that she had thought to bring some reading downstairs with her, and was contemplating Summoning one of her new books on Translating Transylvanian Dialects when –

"Wow. I didn't expect to see you up at this hour," said a warm, familiar voice.

Hermione started as soon as the voice began speaking, and she looked up in surprise to see Ron's blue eyes staring fondly at her.

"Goodness, you startled me. I didn't even hear any footsteps," she said as she reached up to give him a welcoming hug. "And by the way, one _could _say the same about you."

Ron shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, and Harry was driving me mental. He was turning the whole bloody room upside down looking for one of his Quidditch boots."

"Have you noticed that he's seemed a bit… frazzled lately?" asked Hermione thoughtfully. She had thought he'd been acting strangely these last few days, constantly losing things and such. She supposed he was under a lot of stress.

Ron furrowed his brow. "Yeah, now you mention it."

"Any ideas as to why? New love interest, maybe?" asked Hermione, only half-joking.

"Dunno," said Ron. "But I'll tell you something I do know. I do know that I'm not interested in talking about Harry's love-life when my girlfriend is sitting on the couch in front of me and looking… really nice." He smiled hopefully.

Hermione grimaced internally. Ron had many good qualities, but giving girls compliments was most definitely not one of them. _Really nice_ – honestly! But then, she reminded herself, it's not as though he has a lot to work with. She wasn't exactly a veela.

Ron brought his hand tentatively up to her face and let it linger for a moment. He leaned slowly toward her and kissed her. Soft. Unhurried. Sweet. Hermione relaxed into the kiss and let the soothing, gentle nature of it wash over her. It was all very romantic, or at least until her uncontrollable hair fell out of its messy bun and flopped forward into Ron's face. He batted it away and she giggled.

"Sorry," she said, still laughing.

He smiled and squeezed her hand lightly. "I probably should try to save up my energy for Saturday, anyway. We're still on for that, right?"

Hermione groaned inwardly. She couldn't believe she'd let herself be talked into this! A week or so ago, Ron had mentioned an old wizarding legend. According to him, midnight at the Winter solstice was supposed to be an especially lucky time to cement a relationship. Hermione had checked a couple of books out of the library and found that yes, if one wanted to strengthen an amorous relationship, one had only to stand outside under the light of the full moon on the Winter solstice. Of course, the solstice did not often fall on a full moon – but this year it did. They wouldn't get another chance for quite some time. According to the book, the magic sort of…well, forced you to kiss.

Normally, Hermione did not enjoy being forced to do anything, but it wasn't as though she didn't kiss Ron on a fairly regular basis, anyway. It actually sounded rather neat. Dangerous, though, as it would involve breaking several school rules to sneak outside. Harry had already agreed to lend them his Invisibility Cloak, but there were any number of ways that they could still be caught. The reason she'd agreed – the only reason – was that she was so very bored. As much as she fussed about sneaking out with Harry and Ron, she secretly did get a thrill from going on nighttime adventures. This would be sort of like that – except, of course, that Harry would not be coming. And speaking of Harry:

An extremely rumpled-looking Harry came down the stairs, eyes darting frantically all around the room. "Sorry to bother you, but has either of you seen my Quidditch boot?" he asked.

Hermione was perplexed. "Harry, there aren't going to be any Quidditch practices for at least a few weeks."

"Yeah, I know, but it's been missing for a few hours and I just can't seem to calm down about it. I mean, it's like, things are just disappearing suddenly."

Ron stood up and sighed. "Come on, mate. I'll help you look for it." He winked at Hermione, who blew him a kiss in return and he headed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory with a very, very frazzled Harry.

"So are we still on for Saturday night, then?" Pansy Parkinson asked her boyfriend of two months, Draco Malfoy.

"On for…?" He shook his head in confusion. Then it dawned on him. "Oh. Right. That ritual you wanted to do."

"Well, nobody's forcing you," she snapped. "You said it sounded like a good idea."

Draco glanced up at her irritably. Pansy had been so testy lately. "It's fine. I said I'd do it, so I'll do it."

"Well, you're not exactly known for keeping your word," she said. "You're always telling me we'll do things, and then you always manage to get out of doing them at the last second."

"What times would those be?" asked Draco, honestly bewildered.

She glared at him venomously. "Draco – I just asked you a simple question and I expect a reply in either the affirmative or the negative. Are. We. Still. On. For. Saturday. Night." She spoke each word as if asking the question to a person who was both immensely stupid and had hearing difficulties as well. Draco, falling into neither of those two categories, was affronted. Affronted, but quite willing to give in if it meant not having to listen to her whinging at him for things he'd never even done.

"Sure," he said. "Whatever. See you then."

And to his great consternation, Pansy threw him a seething glare and stalked off in the direction of her dormitory.

It was all Draco's fault. Pansy had mulled it over constantly. She had spent entire nights laying awake thinking of nothing else but their new relationship and had at last arrived at this conclusion: It was all Draco's fault. It had to be.

Even now, as she settled herself into her bed and pulled the thick, green velvet drapes around her, she was thinking it. But her arguments lacked conviction, and she knew it. Pansy sighed and scrunched her face into her pillow.

Pansy had been so delighted when four years of dedicated purity and loyalty had resulted in Draco asking her to be his girlfriend. It had been awfully hard work, snaring Draco. He was, after all, THE Draco Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy's son. Her parents had been thrilled, her friends had been awestruck, and Draco was all the things she'd guessed he would be – funny, witty, protective, and _Merlin_ did that boy know how to kiss.

Who in their right mind wouldn't be thanking their lucky stars for this opportunity?

Pansy, that's who.

Ever since they had started dating, she had felt restless. No, not restless. Dare she say it?

Bored. Un-fucking-believable. She was _bored _with Draco Malfoy.

She was bored when he'd taken her into Hogsmeade. She was bored when they'd gone to see the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch game (although she suspected he'd only bought tickets to ogle the lovely, female players) and bored at the Weird Sisters concert. Pansy just couldn't understand it. Draco was an excellent conversationalist and he had a deliciously acerbic wit.

Even during their snog sessions, she'd felt a ridiculous sort of distance. Although he had fantastic technique – and Pansy was in a good position to know, having snogged at least a third of Hogwarts' male population while waiting for Draco to notice her purity and loyalty – she had been just the teensiest bit bored. And she couldn't stop thinking about all of the girls he must have previously romanced, to have gotten so adept.

So she'd decided that it must be his fault. He must not be giving their relationship everything it deserved. He must be holding back. It was the only sensible explanation. Besides, even if the problem was on her side of the table, did that mean that she would _ever_ give him up?

Not bloody likely.

And so the time had come for desperate measures. She had read about a spell once that was supposed to sort of…augment a relationship. Make it better. If you and your partner stood in the light of a full moon on the winter solstice, its power would draw you together in a Binding Kiss.

It sounded perfect to Pansy. She needed to bind herself to Draco, and besides – the nighttime expedition sounded fun and sexy. And the spell would work, and everything would be the way it was supposed to be.

Pansy sighed again. A girl can dream, can't she?


	2. Chapter 2

Blaise Zabini performed a Breath-Freshening charm and ran a comb through his coal-black hair one last time. He smiled appreciatively at his reflection. His trusty (and completely unbiased) mirror let out a high-pitched catcall.

This was it. Today was the day, he thought as he walked up the stairs from the Slytherin dormitories. Blaise could just _feel_ it. So what if the last thirty-six tutoring sessions had failed to show results? They were just warm-ups. Practices for the real thing. Which was definitely, most certainly going to be today.

Today, Hermione Granger would notice him.

Hermione had been tutoring him two or three times a week in Ancient Runes ever since the school year had begun. It had only taken a couple of sessions for Blaise to fall irrevocably in love with her. She was his muse, his Siren, his soul mate. She was intelligence personified, a goddess of virtue, a beauteous statue at whose feet men should be made to grovel.

He had been constant in his affections, and persistent in his attentions. Thus far, his unwavering devotion had failed to yield the slightest hint that she recognized their bond for what it was. Perhaps, he reflected, his methods were too subtle.

_No matter_, he thought. He stepped into the Runes classroom, pleased that she was not yet there. It gave him a moment to collect himself. He set down the bag he had carried all the way up six flights of stairs and sat down in a chair, striking what he knew was a very seductive pose. And sure enough, delicate footsteps could be heard at the door. _O_, he groaned silently, _my lady approaches._

"Hello, Blaise," said Hermione brightly, setting down her schoolbag and settling herself behind the front desk of the classroom. "Do you want to pull your chair up?"

Blaise' mind was reeling. There were so many hidden implications and innuendos in this statement that Blaise could hardly stand it. If you left the chair out of the sentence entirely, the statement read as: Do _you want to get closer?_ A perfect metaphor for their budding relationship.

Or perhaps the chair _shouldn't_ be left out of the equation. Perhaps the chair was the key to everything. Perhaps Hermione was using the chair to symbolize some particular aspect of herself – or maybe her subconscious viewed _herself _as the chair. In which case, she was actually saying not, "Do you want to pull your chair up?" but, "Do you want _me?"_

_Yes, _he thought, willing her heart to understand his silent affirmation. _Yes, Hermione_.

"Uh…Blaise?" asked Hermione gently. "Your chair?"

Blaise scooted his chair forward eagerly. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me with Runes, Hermione. It's just so kind of you. I really, really appreciate it."

Hermione set her quill down. "Listen, Blaise - there's no need for you to do this every time we study. It's really no problem. But thank you for, uh, thanking me."

Blaise beamed. "No, Hermione, really. Thank _you_. And by the way, did you uh, get the uh, the –"

"The card was lovely, Blaise. Thank you so much."

"And the, uh -"

"And the chocolates were just delicious. It was very sweet of you to think of me. But you needn't have bothered."

Blaise seized upon this statement. "There's every need," he practically gasped. "Your kindness in helping me is – is amazing. And your – your kindness and compassion are second only to your strength and your force of character."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, Blaise. That's very nice of you. But you really don't have to say these things to me."

"My words don't even begin to do you justice. But you know what they say. If you can't say it with words – " And here he reached down into the bag he had brought with him and pulled out a stunning, massive bouquet of lilies, roses, and orchids.

"Oh, they're lovely. How nice of you, Blaise. I'll put them in a vase as soon as I get upstairs," she said.

Blaise gritted his teeth and counted to ten. What the hell would it take for her to say something – anything – besides "Oh, how nice," or "Oh, that's sweet of you." When would she gaze at him adoringly and beg him to be her boyfriend? It was time, he decided, for some serious action.

When Blaise was twelve years old, his father, Roderico, had told him that _his father_ had been none other than Antonio the Anemic – a vampire. This, Blaise had been told, explained his coal-black hair, his knife-life incisors, and his pale-as-death complexion. It also explained his peculiar affinity for eating insects. But that was neither here nor there.

When Blaise was thirteen, he discovered that if he licked his tongue slowly across his upper teeth, in a decidedly vampirical gesture, sexy didn't even _begin_ to describe it. His impartial mirror had been in a state of near-catatonia the first time he displayed this move for her.

But it was not to be taken lightly. It was not something he did often, and it was only to be used as a weapon of last resort against the female population. Hermione had never seemed _particularly_ affected by it, but today was different. Today was THE day.

Blaise caught Hermione's eyes with his own. Then he parted his mouth and licked slowly, slooowly.

Hermione gave him a sort of half-puzzled, half-polite smile. "Shall we get started, then?"

Blaise was enraged. No, he cautioned himself. I must be calm, cool, and unruffled.

"Hermione," he asked in a suave, sophisticated voice. "Have you done something with your hair? It's looking… bushier than usual. But in a, er, good way."

Hermione was quite pleased when her tutoring session with Blaise came to an end. Hermione couldn't understand how her best efforts seemed to be yielding no results when it came to his grades.

She had been teaching him Ancient Runes for months and he had made very little progress – honestly, one would think he _wanted_ her to tutor him.

"Hermione! There you are!" She whirled around at the sound of her boyfriend's voice, and reached up to give him a hug.

"Hello, Ron. I missed you."

He frowned. "I can't believe you were tutoring Zabini on the first day of winter hols. And on a Saturday no less!"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, he certainly seems to need the help. He struggles so much with those runes."

Ron's eyes darkened. "Yeah, I'll just bet he does."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" she asked, bewildered.

"Come off it, Hermione – everyone knows Zabini fancies the pants off you."

Hermione laughed with astonishment. "Blaise fancies me? Wherever did you get that ridiculous notion?"

"You think I can't tell when another bloke is after my girl?"

"Well, _your girl_ can take care of herself just fine," snapped Hermione.

"Oh, is that so?" he asked, eyebrow raised – but he was smiling warmly.

Hermione relented. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

"I know," said Ron softly. And with that, he leaned down to kiss her. Hermione kissed him back softly. It was all very romantic until – "Ouch," yelped Ron.

Hermione snapped her head back. "What?"

Ron was standing there, his finger on his lip. "I think you bit me."

"Oh," she said. "Accident. Sorry."

Ron rubbed at his lip. "No problem."

Hermione was disgusted with herself. For months now, she had been working so hard to curb her inner dominatrix, but every now and again it just took control of her actions. During her brief but enlightening time with Viktor Krum, Hermione had discovered that she liked to be the aggressor in the relationship. She had read some books over the summer, and learned that she had a perfectly normal fetish shared by many wizards and witches all over the world. It had a very long and complicated name, but it boiled down to one thing - she liked it _rough._

Not that she'd had sex, but even kissing and petting seemed dull to her without a little bit of pain mixed in with her pleasure. Viktor had been game for pretty much anything, although she felt badly about leaving scratches and bite marks on him – he was such a nice sort of chap. Ron was NOT game for anything. He was, it transpired, hopelessly vanilla. And Hermione loved him so much that she honestly didn't care.

Well, mostly.

It was just at this moment when yet _another_ voice interrupted her musings:

"What the bloody hell!"

Ron and Hermione glanced behind them to see Harry, looking exceptionally irritated.

"What's up, mate?" asked Ron warily.

"My wand! Where the hell is my wand? I just put it in the pocket of my trousers not two minutes ago!"

"Why don't you Summon it?" asked Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, he can't very well Summon his wand without – well – his wand. I'll do it."

She raised her wand. "Accio Harry's wand."

And sure enough, it came zooming toward them down the hall. It seemed to have come from the Great Hall.

"No," said Harry. "No way… I had it right here. Guys, I swear I had it in my pocket…You believe me, don't you?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick glance.

"It's not that we don't believe you, Harry," began Hermione, "but maybe you ought to try and get to bed early tonight. I think you could do with a bit of rest."

"I'm not tired and I'm not bloody crazy," he stated. "I swear it was… it was right here."

And with that, Ron took his frazzled friend by the arm and marched him up to the Gryffindor dormitories. Hermione watched them go with a bemused smile on her face.

After a fairly good night's sleep and a morning spent alone with her vases, Pansy was feeling marginally better about herself. How was it, she wondered, that painting vases was the perfect solution to all of her troubles?

It drove her parents and her friends absolutely mad. Why, they would ask, do you insist on buying the ugliest, cheapest, plainest vases? The simple answer was – Pansy enjoyed fixing them up. The process of turning something unattractive into something aesthetic delighted her. She could spend hours making a flaw into an adornment. And the expensive vases that were sold in stores were certainly beautiful – but they never _exactly_ suited her tastes.

This way she could be assured that the final creation was perfect.

Of course, it didn't entirely drive out her worries about tonight. Pansy kept on glancing at the clock, and the pixies in her stomach got worse and worse as it got closer to ten o'clock. That was the time she and Draco had decided on. Draco had been practicing the Disillusionment charm to prevent them from being seen as they snuck out into the grounds. Draco was not keen on going on to the Forbidden Forest, although he never said why – he would only say that he had had a terrible experience in there during his first year. So they had chosen a spot near the perimeter of the school grounds where they would be shrouded by trees and rocks and the darkness of night.

Now, she thought as she reached once more for her paintbrush, all she had to do was wait.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, come on."

"I already told you – no."

"Why NOT? Come on, it's not like you've got anything better to do!"

Draco smirked at the increasingly agitated black-haired boy in front of him. "How do you know, Zabini?"

Blaise looked like he was about to explode. His face was a mottled purple. Draco saw him grit his teeth and tense his broad shoulders. Blaise expelled his breath slowly and set his jaw. "All I'm asking you is—"

"Come off it!" yelled Draco in exasperation. "I am _not_ going to help you get Granger!"

"Look, I've told you! I'm not having any luck with her, and if you just put in a good word for me with your annoying girlfriend… Just mention to Pansy that I'm…you know, a great dancer, good in bed – whatever it is girls want to hear. She'll let her friends know, trust me. Girls love to gossip. It'll get to Granger eventually."

Draco goggled at him. "How the hell am I supposed to know whether or not you're good in bed?"

Blaise whirled around. "No, but – oh." Realization dawned on his face. "Ohhh, right. That's no good." He thought for a moment. "Well, the dancing bit then."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You think I should clue her in about all those nights we spent doing the salsa up in the boys' dormitories."

Blaise looked aghast. "Draco, _please_," he hissed under his breath, glancing around to see if anyone was within earshot. "It was just that _once."_

Draco sighed. "What is up with you, anyway? I thought we agreed years ago that Granger's a pathetic excuse for a witch. And ugly, too."

"She's NOT ugly, she's gorgeous," snapped Blaise.

"Gorgeous?" snorted Draco. "I really hadn't noticed."

"Then you really haven't been looking," stated Blaise without a trace of embarrassment. "She's lovely. She's funny, she's dead clever, and she's gorgeous."

"No wonder she's not into you, then."

"I just can't understand it!" wailed Blaise. "I have tried everything I can think of, and she still won't even look at me."

Draco eyed Blaise warily. "You didn't do that thing with your tongue, did you? Because I've told you before, you look like you're picking at something that's stuck between your teeth."

"It's sexy and predatory! I _am_ part-vampire, you know," said Blaise with dignity.

"Yeah, only because you manage to drop that fact into every conversation we have."

Blaise stared darkly at Draco. "Since when did you become such an expert on relationships, anyway?"

Draco shrugged. "I haven't. I do have a girlfriend, though. Which is more than I can say for you.'

Blaise laughed at this. "Explain to me why you haven't broken up with her again."

Draco sighed. "I don't know. Partly because I think it's funny, waiting to see how much longer she'll let herself remain in total agony. Does she honestly think I can't tell that she's bored to tears, even when we're snogging?"

"And you're not taking it personally?"

"No," said Draco, shrugging. "Sometimes two people just aren't right for each other. And then you break it off. But for whatever reason, she won't. I have no idea why." He spoke with the air of a boy who knew that for every girl who didn't want him, there were at least fifty others who did.

"Granger's the one for me. I just know she is," said Blaise with conviction.

"If she was," said Draco – not unkindly – "don't you think she'd have seen it by now, too?"

Blaise didn't say anything at all.

"Oh, _honestly_, Ronald! We've been through this before!" Hermione heard herself let her breath out in an exasperated hiss.

"So tell me again. I've forgotten."

"I can't believe you want to talk about this _now_ of all times."

"And I can't believe you won't just answer the question."

Hermione stopped in her tracks and turned to face the direction of what she thought was her boyfriend. It was a bit hard to tell, as they were both hidden by the Invisibility Cloak. She and Ron were on their way to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. The Forest would have been ideal, but considering the behavior of the centaurs last term, both of them thought it would be best to steer clear.

"Ronald Weasley! For the very last time, I do NOT like Blaise Zabini! And I do NOT think he likes me either!" Hermione was shaking from the cold and from anger. This night was supposed to be romantic and special, and Ron had been pestering her about _Blaise_ of all things for the past half an hour.

"But I bet you think he's attractive. Don't you, Hermione?"

Hermione closed her eyes and prayed for patience. "Look, Ron – You are the only man to whom I am attracted. Blaise is okay-looking. But I don't think black hair is all that great, and besides – his teeth are too close together."

"What?" said Ron, startled.

"Well, they must be awfully close together. The poor dear always seems to have something stuck between his teeth. He sits there and picks his teeth with his tongue." She shuddered. "It's quite gross, actually."

"Ewww," said Ron. "Sounds like it." He sounded disturbed, but Hermione thought she detected a faint note of relief as well. Ron was so ridiculously _possessive_ sometimes.

"Now promise me that you won't say another word about Blaise for the rest of the night," she demanded.

"Fine." Hermione could practically _feel_ him rolling his eyes at her. She loved Ron, she really did – but sometimes she just wished he would trust her a bit more. She could name any number of boys at Hogwarts of which Ron had, at one point, been unreasonably jealous. Wrapped up in these thoughts that she didn't notice when Ron stopped walking – and so consequently she ran smack into him.

"Sorry," they said at the same time.

"Why have we stopped?" asked Hermione. "Are we there?"

"Yeah," she heard him say. "This is it."

Hermione stared around. It wasn't the Forbidden Forest, but it may as well have been. The area was densely wooded, except for a small clearing in the middle. The brilliant, full moon's light spilled down through it and made the snow look as pure as untouched parchment.

"D'you reckon we can take the cloak off now?" asked Ron.

"Uh…right. Okay, then." Now that it was nearly time for the ritual, she was feeling a bit nervous. Perhaps she should have researched it a bit more carefully…

Ron whipped the cloak off and – "AAAHHHH!" A piercing scream rent the quiet of the night.

Hermione whirled around, her heart hammering wildly in her ribcage. She gasped as she saw who had screamed. Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy were standing not even fifteen feet away from them.

Pansy rushed forward toward Hermione and Ron, who was standing still looking absolutely thunderstruck.

"Where the HELL did you two come from?" hissed Pansy. "You weren't here ten seconds ago, we would have seen you! You just came out of nowhere!"

Draco strode up behind Pansy and smirked at the sight of the invisibility cloak in Ron's hands. "Well, well, well… I might have known."

Ron flushed bright red. "Look, this is none of your business. Hermione and I were just..."

Draco snorted. "I don't care what you and Granger have been up to. I care about that cloak. It's Potter's, isn't it?" His gray eyes sparkled with malice. "Don't even bother to answer me, I know it's his. I know you couldn't afford one, Weasel."

"And as for Granger here," piped up Pansy. "She's probably not even witch enough to know what it is. Stupid _mudblood_," she spat.

Granger was practically shaking with rage. "How dare you call me that! You stupid, foul-tempered hag!"

Pansy whipped her wand out of the pocket of her robe. "Oh, you'd better be prepared for some _serious_ trouble, Granger!"

Draco wanted nothing more than to shake Pansy by the shoulders. What the hell was she thinking? Granger was the best duelist in Hogwarts, and although it took a lot to provoke her, once provoked her temper was formidable. Pansy was going to spend the rest of her days as a toad or a canary or a ferr… But no, he wasn't going to think about that.

Granger drew out her wand as well and aimed it at Pansy. She drew in a breath but before she had time to say anything Draco had rushed up and grabbed her from behind, away from Pansy. She gasped in anger and turned to scratch, kick, bite, whatever it took to get out of his grasp. Draco held on tight, however, and made sure to pin her wrists so that she couldn't use her wand.

The Weasel, looking thoroughly incensed, snarled and rushed toward Draco – but managed to slip on an icy patch and fall flat onto his stomach so hard that it momentarily knocked the wind out of him.

Granger, meanwhile, managed to wrench her right wrist out of his grasp and shot a hex at Pansy. Pansy was several yards away, but Granger had excellent aim. Pansy ducked as the jet of gold light came soaring toward her, and the hex missed her by mere inches.

Screaming threats and obscenities, Pansy rushed toward him and Granger, but before she could get very far she was restrained by Weasley, who gripped her shoulders tightly from behind.

"Let GO," she shrieked. "You utter bastard, let me go this instant!"

Looking up, Draco met Weasley's eyes and for a second – no, a fraction of a second – there was a look between them that was just sort of, "Great. Now What?" But it felt too friendly or something, so he averted his eyes and concentrated on holding Granger, who was determinedly trying to kick him in the balls.

Things might have come to a very interesting conclusion indeed if it hadn't been for a sound – a syllable, really – that caused all four of them to stop their struggling and stare in horror.

"Mrow."

Glaring at them with her lamp like, green eyes was none other than Mrs. Norris. All four students realized the import of this immediately, for whenever Mrs. Norris was around, one was sure to find –

"Wha' is it, my sweet?" came the raspy voice. "Is it students?'

Everyone remained frozen in their bizarre tableaux for about a second. Then –

"_Shit!"_ whispered Draco fiercely. There was no time to discuss options. He dove behind a fairly large clump of bushes, taking Granger with him. He hoped Pansy and the Weasel had managed to stay hidden as well. Granger was shaking like a leaf next to him. They both froze completely, however, as soon as they heard the sound they were both dreading. Footsteps. Very close to them. Then, Filch's voice:

"Yes? Where are the nasty little students? I know I heard something…" It was agonizing not being able to see what was going on. Draco could only hope that he would decide that he'd been hearing things and leave.

Then they heard footsteps walking away from them. Draco heard Granger let out the tiniest of breaths, in sheer relief. Then – "AHA!" cried Filch.

He couldn't help it – he jerked up his head to see what was going on, as did Granger. It appeared that Mrs. Norris had led him to Weasley and Pansy's hiding place. He heard Pansy gasp – but he couldn't see her. Why couldn't he see her? Then it dawned on him.

The cloak. They had the cloak on!

Then, to his utter astonishment, he saw Pansy and Weasley stand up – well, he could actually only see their ankles and feet – and completely run for it. They positively flew! Filch gave a growl of annoyance and took off after them, but there was no way he would catch up with them. And since he hadn't actually seen their faces, it appeared that they were safe. However, he and Granger were fucked. Who knew if or when Filch would be back? Would they have to bloody stay out here all night?

"At least they're all right," said Granger in a small voice.

"Yeah," snapped Draco. "What about us?"

Granger shrugged. Draco sighed. This was going to be a looong night.

It felt to Pansy like they had been running for hours. Her legs ached, her ears were absolutely freezing, and her breath was coming in short, wheezing gasps. She stopped momentarily. She whipped the cloak off of them and threw it on a nearby log.

"Can't…"

Ron stopped and looked at her. Pansy had stopped and placed her gloved hand on a nearby tree, steadying herself.

"What?" he asked, annoyed.

"I can't run anymore," she managed to get out. "Besides, I – I don't think he's following us anymore."

"What makes you so sure?" he asked warily.

"I Vanished our footsteps as we ran. He won't be able to tell which way we've gone. And besides, he's got rheumatism or something. He would never have caught up with us."

Ron hadn't thought Pansy would be bright enough to think of the Vanishing spell. He was impressed despite himself.

"Please," pleaded Pansy. "Can't we just…sit down somewhere? At least for a minute or so?"

Ron looked as though he wasn't thrilled with that idea, but nodded briefly. "Fine. Okay. We should probably try Locating them, anyway."

"No!" hissed Pansy. "No magic! The sparks from our wands will lead Filch straight to us."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You've really perfected the whole 'sneaking around' thing, haven't you?"

Pansy's lips quirked upward in a brief smile. "Well, I'm not in Slytherin for nothing."

Pansy could hardly believe herself. Why was she being so nice to him? He was a blood-traitor, plain and simple. One of _many_ reasons why she shouldn't even be deigning to acknowledge his presence. She couldn't even begin to count the number of times that her father had belittled the Weasleys, called them horrible names, and sneered at their clothes and their freckles. Oh, if he could just see her now… On the other hand, there was something to be said for ticking off your parents, wasn't there? Weasley had good connections, famous friends, and a pedigree as impeccable as her own. And to Pansy's very great astonishment, she wasn't actually disliking the freckles either.

Her mind full of these thoughts, Pansy plunked herself down on a tree stump and re-applied the Heating Charm to her hands, ears, and feet. The charm she had cast earlier this evening was starting to wear off. She had carefully applied it before she started off with Draco, because she wanted to be totally relaxed and comfortable for the…for the….

"Oh, no!" wailed Pansy, jumping up from the stump and looking wildly around. She had no idea what she was looking for, but she couldn't just stand still! She had to find Draco, she just had to! The winter solstice wouldn't fall on a full moon for years and years… She couldn't believe that she had let herself be separated from him. On tonight of all nights.

"What's wrong?" asked Weasley, his bright blue eyes widening. Even in Pansy's state of distress, she noted that the question contained genuine concern. Draco's bored, drawling tones were the antithesis to Weasley's gentle lilt.

"I, uh… that is, Draco and I were supposed to do this…thing. A spell."

"So were we." Pansy snapped her eyes up to meet Weasley's.

Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden. "You were?"

He nodded. They had not broken eye contact yet. "Yes. At midnight."

Pansy's stomach kept sending sparks up into her throat and shooting them out into her extremities. There was a zinging energy moving so fast throughout her body that it felt like she was literally shaking. Almost without being aware of it, she walked forward a few steps, toward him. "You and Granger…"

"Yeah," he said. Pansy's heart was clenching and unfurling rapidly. She couldn't look away from him. What on earth was this? What was it? Was it just her, or had he moved closer as well? She thought he had. Yes, yes he had.

"So…" she heard herself ask, her voice pitched much higher than usual. "What time is it now, anyway?"

Weasley lifted his wrist up and glanced slowly down at his watch. His eyes widened. He brought the hand down and took a step closer to her.

Pansy stepped forward as well, not of her own volition. Their eyes locked once more. It felt so disturbingly right. So right, even in the midst of all this.

"Eleven fifty…." His voice sounded hoarse, and it trailed off early.

"Yes?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"It's…eleven fifty…" They were close enough to touch now.

He tried once more. "Eleven – Mmmmph!" And that was all he could get out, because at that exact moment Pansy had shot off from the ground, looped her left arm around his neck, and kissed him for all he was worth.

"NOOOO!" howled Draco. "GODDAMMIT, I SAID NO!"

"AAARGH!" screamed Hermione. "THIS! ISN'T! WORKING! OWW!"

The casual observer taking a stroll on Hogwarts grounds and running into Draco and Hermione would have thought that either both of them OR he himself needed a good long stay at St. Mungo's.

Draco and Hermione, being rather more clever than Pansy and Ron, had figured out immediately that the Binding Kiss would take place whether or not they were with their respective darlings. So after a quick planning session, during which much verbal abuse was heaped by and on both parties, the two of them had decided that it would be best if they sat far from each other, on opposite sides of the copse of trees in which they were situated.

Hermione had Transfigured a gum wrapper into a blanket and had sat gracefully down on it, wishing that she were asleep in her sinfully comfortable four-poster back at the castle.

Draco, meanwhile, was casually checking out Granger. Blaise, he decided, had been wrong. Granger definitely _wasn't _gorgeous. She did have a sort of virginal prettiness about her – which was refreshing, he supposed, if you liked that sort of thing. Her eyes were all right, and her arse was delectable, and her hair was definitely growing on him, and even her feet were dainty and cute, and okay, FINE, maybe gorgeous wasn't so far off after all.

But then with the zinging.

He started to feel it in his arms, a sort of pulling feeling. It seemed to be shoving him in Granger's direction. And Hermione, for her part, had started feeling this wickedly exciting fluttering in her stomach that got stronger every time she looked over at him.

They had both tried their absolute hardest to ignore the feelings, telling themselves that once it was 12:01, they would have missed their shot and the zinging and the fluttering would cease and desist.

No such luck.

Once it had hit 11:55, the zinging had gone into overdrive until Draco felt like he was being jolted by white-hot lightning. And Hermione felt like the butterflies in her stomach were performing dance routines. But instead of moving slowly closer, as Ron and Pansy had, they had consciously fought the feelings and moved farther away from each other. At midnight, their bodies acted as though they were magnetized to each other. Which leads us to the scene the stranger would have seen, had he come upon the intrepid duo.

Completely panicked, Draco had grabbed a hold of the tree he was nearest to, wrapping his arms and legs around its thin trunk and holding on with all his might. And Hermione, unable to get to a tree, was flat on her stomach, holding onto a small shrub that looked like it might not hold its ground for much longer.

"NOOO," shouted Draco again. "I'M SLIPPING! NOOO!"

"JUST HOLD ON!" shouted Hermione. "IT HAS TO STOP SOON!" They were so far away that they actually had to shout to hear each other.

"IT"S 12:05, AND IT'S ONLY GOTTEN STRONGER!" shouted Draco. "AAAUGGH!"

At precisely this moment, Hermione's fingers were pried off of the shrub by unseen forces and she shot across the snow-covered ground, following a path that led directly to Draco's tree.

"I'M SORREEE!" she shrieked as she skidded to a halt.

"STUPID MUDBLOOD!" screamed Draco, totally enraged.

It was all over for Draco. Having her so near increased the magnetic force by a factor of at least ten. He plummeted down from the tree, fetching up at the trunk. There was only time for the two of them to share a look of mute horror before Draco literally felt himself picked up and thrown on top of Hermione, who was forced to topple backwards from the sheer force of his weight. Before either of them could even draw breath again, Draco had wound his fingers in her hair, and slanted his mouth down over Hermione's, causing a few nearby icicles to melt from the heat of their thousand-degree kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

_She was totally into this kiss._

'

A thousand thoughts were flying through Ron's head, and they were all clamoring to be heard, but this was the only one that made itself heard through the din. Really. She was totally into it.

She was thoroughly involved, in a way that Hermione never had been – Pansy seemed to be paying attention to every detail, seemed to be trying to read him with her lips. She kissed him as though everything in the world was remote and far away. She kissed him as though he were the only thing that mattered. She kissed him and he knew - he could just _tell_ - that she was thinking a myriad of thoughts revolving only around him and the way he was kissing her.

And he was right.

She was.

_Hmm_…thought Pansy seriously. _He might have the honor of being the **very worst** of anyone I've ever snogged. Even Justin Finch-Fletchley didn't use quite so much tongue. God, hasn't he had any practice with Granger? If so, I pity the witch. _

Weasley then proceeded to move his lips away from hers and start nibbling rather inexpertly on her ear. Pansy was quite unnerved.

And yet… it was a shame, really, because she was fond of him in a way. He was sweet and earnest and gentle. The way he gazed at her made her feel girly and excited and utterly appreciated. Draco had always made her feel awkward and uncomfortable, and she was almost _intimidated _by his sheer elegance. Yes, she told herself silently, it was too bad about Weasley. Although, she thought, he must surely have some potential. He couldn't be completely hopeless, and in the right girl's hands….

Pansy's eyes widened and she clutched rather desperately at Weasley's shoulders. He stopped his nibbling and raised his head. She could feel his cold breath near her cheek, and her own heart fluttered in response, and it was at that moment that she fully _realized._

Weasley was JUST what she needed – a project! Like her vases! She could fix him up perfectly, molding him into the exact sort of boyfriend she had always wanted. It would take months at least, but that wouldn't be at all terrible because she genuinely enjoyed Weasley's company. And in the end… she would have a beautiful, gorgeous creation that just exactly suited her tastes.

And, she thought, her mind absolutely racing, Draco's problem wasn't that he wasn't good enough. It was that he was TOO perfect! He was like one of those pre-made vases that she took absolutely no delight in having. They were exquisite and expensive but she _had had no hand in making them._

Delighted by her discovery, she laughed aloud and threw her arms around Weasley, who seemed startled but returned the gesture with interest. He was such a terrible kisser, but she couldn't wait to spend hours, days, weeks, **months - **making a flaw into an adornment.

Draco was trembling. He couldn't believe this! It was definitely, definitely from the cold – it was most certainly not from the feeling of her lips under his and the breathy gasps she was letting out every so often and from the feeling of his hands in her snow-spangled hair.

_Calm down_, he told himself. _Just calm down. You are totally in control of the situation. _Draco inhaled deeply and kissed her softly, expertly, the way Pansy liked to be kissed. Granger reached up and wound her delicate hands around his neck and he smirked against her lips. _Never fails to impress the ladies_, he thought to himself boastfully. Of course, he thought to himself, the reason Draco had always been such a skilled romancer was that all girls wanted the same thing. All girls wanted to be touched lightly and worshipfully. In fact, Granger was reacting much the same way as Pansy who reacted the same way as Lisa Turpin who reacted the same as Daphne Greengr-

And then his world turned over. Or, to be more, accurate, Draco himself was abruptly turned over by Granger. As near as he could tell, Granger had insinuated her knee between his legs, grabbed his shoulders, and pushed off from the ground until she was lying straddled on top of a thoroughly shell-shocked Draco.

_What the f-_

But before he could even complete the thought, Granger had slammed her mouth down onto his. His eyes flew open – he couldn't help it. She was writhing around on top of him and her mouth was on his and then her mouth was moving lower until she had yanked the scarf away from his neck and was – shit, she was _biting _down on his neck and she was _raking _her nails down his cheek and he was _gasping _for air and _gasping_ for more. Then her hands were snaking even further down his body until they cupped his arse and he almost cried out in astonishment but was startled by the fact that she had brought her eyes down to his and was glaring into them with fierce intensity and my _God_ she was hot and –

"What's my name?" she hissed.

"Uh…" Draco was momentarily speechless. "What? Why- "

She dug her nails into his buttocks and this time he did cry out as he involuntarily thrust upward into her pelvis. "What. Is. My. Name."

"Uh…Gr-Granger," he managed to get out.

"Close enough," she said and commenced shoving his jacket off and pulling his shirt up and he was SO GLAD that they'd had the foresight to Summon Granger's blanket to lie down on or he'd be lying on snow right now, but he wasn't sure if even _that_ would have stopped him from continuing. And then her nails were clawing viciously up and down his back and her mouth was planting rough kisses up and down his chest and she was punishing him but _God _he knew he deserved it for every horrible thing he'd ever done to her. He deserved it and he _wanted_ it and he had never in his _life _felt as alive as he was feeling right now.

Hermione Granger was so happy she could cry or shout or sing.

This was wonderful, this was absolutely amazing.

This had ceased to be a kiss a long time ago, and had instead become a bloody _revelation:_

In order for her to be able to enjoy her dominatrix tendencies, _she had to be in a relationship with someone she absolutely couldn't stand._

Who cares, she thought as she raked her nails down his back and heard him cry out, if it hurt him? It was Malfoy! He deserved this, and a lot more.

Who cares, she thought as she bit down on his lip and heard him gasp in pain and shock, if he was uncomfortable? It was just Malfoy! Stupid, annoying Malfoy! Her happiness was nearly palpable, this was so much more fun than she'd ever imagined. Totally content, she slid off of him and rolled onto her back, lying next to him on the red blanket.

And within a minute, she felt something she'd never expected to feel. Malfoy's hand. And it wasn't on her breast or her arse or even her leg. It was reaching, tentatively, for her hand. Shocked, she returned his grip. And looked up to see his face, looking rather the worse for wear, looming down over hers.

"Ow," he said.

She grinned broadly. "Sorry," she said, although she didn't actually mean it.

His eyes widened in astonishment. He shook his head of silver-blond hair. "You do know," he said seriously, "that there's absolutely no way that I'm letting you go now."

"Likewise," she heard herself say. Oh, dear. That book hadn't been lying when it said that the Binding Kiss augmented relationships. She wondered vaguely if she'd be stuck with Malfoy for life, and she felt disturbed by the thought that that didn't particularly bother her right now.

"Don't you care that I'm an evil prat?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're hardly EVIL, Malfoy."

Draco sounded affronted. "Sure I am."

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"No," he said.

"Maimed? Raped? Tortured?"

"Ucch," he said. "No."

"Kidnapped? Assaulted?"

"Fine," he snapped. "I get it, I get it. I'm not evil. I am a prat, though."

Hermione considered this. "At this exact moment, are you?"

"Well," began Draco, "I just had a quite enjoyable snog session with someone else's significant other – and technically, I have my own. Not," he added hastily, "that my relationship with Pansy will last any longer than it will take for me to say, 'Sorry. It's over.'"

"Same here," replied Hermione calmly.

"Are you breaking up with Pansy as well?" asked Draco lightly.

"No, idiot." Hermione rolled over onto her stomach and regarded Draco coolly. "I just meant that I have a boyfriend – and I kissed someone who was attached to someone else. If you're a prat, then so am I."

"Well," said Draco. "My best friend is in love with you and I'm going to steal you from right under his nose. Isn't that sort of cruel?"

"Yes, I suppose," said Hermione. She shot him a quizzical look. "Who's in love with me?"

"Blaise."

Hermione goggled at him. "Is he really? I'd no idea."

Draco rolled his eyes. "For someone who's meant to be so clever, you can be really obtuse about some things."

Hermione glared at him and opened her mouth to retort. Before she could even get the words out, however, Draco had reached up, cupped her face in his hands and drawn it down to his. They kissed, slowly and gently this time, and Hermione was shocked to discover that she liked this as well. The force wasn't there, but the intensity was still as strong.

He drew back and brushed some snowflakes out of her hair. "Some things," he told her. "Just some."

Harry couldn't understand it. He could have _sworn_, absolutely sworn that his red and gold Gryffindor scarf had been looped around his bedpost. He had put it there, not twenty minutes ago. Where on earth was it?

And he had to hurry as it was – an impatient Ginny was waiting for him down in the Gryffindor common room.

Harry and Ginny had both been informed of Ron and Hermione's evening plans. But the couple had explicitly promised that they would return to the castle by 1:30 at the latest. Now it was nearly 3:30 and they had failed to show up in the castle – or on the Marauder's Map. A frantic Ginny had convinced Harry that they needed to go find them - and as Harry was already worried himself, she hadn't had to try very hard.

Running low on time, Harry decided to give up and Summon the scarf – although it seemed a stupid thing to do as he was SURE it was around here somewhere.

But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing happened. In a confused daze, Harry walked down to the common room to see Ginny, bundled up warmly and holding Harry's scarf in her hand.

"Where did you find that?" he gaped at her.

She shrugged. "It was really weird. It just came soaring through the portrait hole. You must have left it downstairs somewhere."

Harry shook his head in frustration. "I – no, I didn't…. It was on my bedpost, I swear!"

Ginny just stared at him. "You're looking a bit frazzled. Are you sure you're all right, Harry?"

Harry sighed, defeated. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just go."

Broomsticks in hand, Harry and Ginny stepped out of the portrait hole and – "AAAARGH!"

Harry had tripped over something – or, to be more accurate, someone.

It was Blaise Zabini, who had been fast asleep outside of the portrait hole and was rubbing his stomach in pain from where Harry had stepped on it.

"Zabini?" asked Harry, totally confused. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Blaise glanced up at them, feeling quite foolish. "Oh. Sorry. I was, er… just admiring the…lovely, er…." He gave up. "Sod it all. I was waiting for Hermione."

"Hermione? Why?" asked Ginny suspiciously.

Blaise sighed. "Because I was hoping to give her the Christmas present I bought for her. Before I had to go home for the holidays."

Harry gaped at him. "You bought Hermione a Christmas gift?"

"Yeah," said Blaise defensively. "What of it, Potter?"

"Nothing," said Harry hastily. "Look, Hermione's not here. And we're in a bit of a rush, so…"

"Not here?" he said, sounding worried. "Where is she?"

Ginny and Harry exchanged a quick glance. "Well," said Ginny. "She went out with my brother, but they were supposed to be back by now. So Harry and I are going out to look for them."

Blaise scrambled to his feet and looked Harry squarely in the eye. "I'm coming, too."

Harry glared at Blaise. "Give me one good reason why we should let you tag along."

"Because," said Blaise smoothly. "If you don't let me, I'll wake up every teacher I can think of and tell them where you've gone."

Ginny put a warning hand on Harry's arm. Harry's face was starting to get dangerously red. "Just let him, Harry. The important thing is that we find them as soon as possible. Let's not waste time."

It took a bit of time to convince Harry that it was a good idea, but he eventually acquiesced.

"I can be really useful," Blaise informed Harry. "I can follow their scent. I'm part-vampire, you know," he announced proudly.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Ewww. That's very gross and disturbing."

Blaise looked highly affronted. "YOU'RE very gross and disturbing," he shot off.

"Honestly, you two," said Ginny, shaking her hair. "If we're going to find them, we have to work _together_."

And she marched down the stairs imperiously, leaving the two boys to glower at each other darkly before following her lead.

Harry, Ginny, and Blaise had just finished flying over the lake when it happened: Two huge thestrals, visible only to Harry, had come flying directly at the three of them.

"Watch out!" Harry had yelled sharply, but it was too late. The other two had no idea what they were supposed to be looking out for and one of the thestrals had clipped Blaise lightly with its wing. It hadn't hurt him at all, but he was so shocked that he twisted around and lost control of his broom. With a shriek, Blaise fell about ten feet, fortunately landing in some bushes which lessened the impact a bit.

Harry and Ginny put their brooms into a dive and in no time they were on the ground where Blaise was still lying, looking dazed.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked immediately looking at the pale, dark-haired boy in front of them.

"I think I might have sprained my wrist," he said, wincing a bit as he tried to move it. "What was that, Potter? How did you know it was there?"

"Thestrals," he said shortly.

Blaise turned a shade whiter. "My dad told me thestrals hate anyone with vampire blood. I'm lucky they didn't kill me."

Ginny knelt down next to him and examined his wrist. "Yeah, I think it might be sprained." She glanced up at Harry. "He's in no shape to fly."

Harry put his head in his hands and rubbed at his temples wearily. "So what do you think we should do?"

"I think I should stay with him," said Ginny staunchly. "He sprained his right arm, so he wouldn't be able to use his wand if anybody should come after him. Go on and find Ron and Hermione. Bring them back here – Hermione will be able to mend his wrist in a heartbeat."

It was a mark of how very exhausted Harry was that he put up no argument. "Fine," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I possibly can. Be safe."

He ruffled Ginny's fair, shot Blaise a warning look, and kicked off the ground and into the winter sky.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione Granger was currently engaged in one of the most pointless conversations of her entire life.

Well, she amended inwardly, it wasn't exactly pointless. She had a point she was trying to get across, and so did Ron, but neither of them seemed to be making headway.

About a half-hour ago, she and Draco had decided that the best thing for them to do would be to find Ron and Pansy. And after about twenty minutes of searching, they had found them. Kissing as if their lives depended on it.

And Hermione felt, initially, a detached sort of disappointment – but the Binding Kiss had done its work well. She felt totally, irrefutably attached to Draco. She remembered her brief time with Ron, but she had already filed it away in her mind under, "Memories." It already felt like a thing of the past. It was something of a relief as well, because she and Ron had only been kidding themselves if they thought they could make it work. They weren't suited romantically, although they worked beautifully as friends – and they always would.

Upon finding them, Draco had cleared his throat loudly, and a very sheepish Ron and Pansy had disentangled their limbs from each other and walked over to a mostly-amused Draco and Hermione.

Pansy and Draco had walked away from them, talking quietly to each other and Ron and Hermione had settled themselves onto a flat rock. And began what Hermione considered to be one of the most pointless conversations of her entire life.

"But –" Ron had spluttered, "he's a Slytherin!"

"So is Pansy," Hermione had replied calmly.

Then he had grumbled and muttered to himself a bit. And finally had said, "You've always hated him! And he's always hated you!"

"Same with you and Pansy," said Hermione, with no rancor. Her voice was calm and reasonable. Which, in Ron's opinion made it all the more infuriating.

"He's spent the last six years calling you a Mudblood!"

"And she's spent the last six years calling you a blood traitor."

And then Ron grumbled and muttered to himself some more.

"Well, how," said Ron, with the air of someone who knows he has won the argument, "do we even know how much of this is the spell and how much of it is our actual feelings?"

Hermione considered this. "I'm not sure. I guess we'll just have to see."

Ron looked livid. "Just wait and see? That's your answer?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. If it's the spell, I have no idea how long it will last. But I know I can't even stand the thought of being separated from him. Do you really want to break it off with Pansy just because you think it might be the spell?"

Ron sighed. "No, actually. I don't."

"Don't what?" came Pansy's voice from behind them. Ron and Hermione whipped their heads around and saw Draco and Pansy walking toward them, both of them looking relatively satisfied with the outcome of their talk.

"Nothing," said Ron quickly. Pansy looked suspicious, but Draco pulled her out of her thoughts by announcing, "Good lord, it's nearly four in the morning!"

"We should get back," said Ron, reaching over to pull Pansy into his arms. She sank into them as if they'd been doing this all their lives.

"Yeah, you two go ahead," said Draco. "I need to stay and talk to Granger for a bit."

Ron looked a bit mutinous, but Pansy whispered something in his ear and he brightened. "Yeah, okay," he announced. "But at least have her back before dawn!" he shot at Malfoy, who looked so relieved that they were actually leaving that he was only too happy to agree.

"So," said Hermione, now that she was alone with Draco. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"My father," he said immediately.

"Your…" her voice trailed off.

"Father," he said forcefully. "You know…" he grabbed a fistful of his hair. "Hair about this shade." He pointed to his eyes. "Eyes about this color." He indicated a height about two inches above his head. "About…so high. Nasty bloke. Name of Lucius."

Hermione stared at him wonderingly. What on earth was he on about?

"You may," said Draco wryly, "recall him from the few occasions where you've met and he's attempted to wipe you off the face of the planet."

"I recall," said Hermione. "I definitely recall."

"Then," said Draco, "I suppose you'll understand when I say that he wouldn't be thrilled if I were to bring you home for the holidays or anything like that."

"Yes," said Hermione. "I definitely understand that."

"So…" said Draco.

"So…?" asked Hermione. "What are you saying?"

"Don't you care?" said Draco. "Don't you care that this relationship is going to entirely consist of one painful – possibly fatal – headache after the next?"

"Yes, of course," said Hermione simply. "But I don't really want to think that far ahead."

"But…with all the problems we'll be facing, we may never work it out. We'll be lucky if we last until Christmas."

"If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out. It doesn't mean we shouldn't try." Draco stared at her as if he had never seen anything so incredible in his entire life. "And," Hermione said softly, "If it only lasts until Christmas, then at least we'll both have had a very lovely Christmas indeed." She smiled at him and he smiled back, and she saw all of her hope reflected back at her in his eyes. "In the meantime, Draco Malfoy," she said throatily, moving her hands up his body in an achingly slow gesture, "you have been a _very _naughty boy this year."

Draco's heart skipped several beats at least. "Oh, fuck, yes…" he agreed. "Yes, I have."

Harry Potter could not have been more surprised for the sight that met his eyes.

Flying overhead, he had seen footsteps in the snow. He had dived down and followed the tracks, his footsteps crunching in the snow. And heard some most peculiar sounds as he did.

"_Shit! Someone's coming!"_

"_Quick, get up – get up!"_

"_Who is it?"_

In a matter of seconds, Harry found himself in clearing where none other than Hermione Granger – his best friend – and Draco Malfoy – his worst enemy – were standing about five feet apart, looking wildly around. Hermione was trying to rearrange her hair and Malfoy… was Malfoy _pulling his trousers up?_

"What the hell is going on here?" shouted Harry. "Malfoy – you…and Hermione…" Harry ran a hand through his hair – which was absolutely wild from the wind – and readjusted his glasses which had been crookedly perched on the end of his nose. His robes were hanging haphazardly on him over his thick pants and jacket and he was breathing hard from having flown so fast in the cold.

"Harry," said Hermione in a concerned voice, "you look…"

"If you tell me I look fucking _frazzled _I will kill you," he said venomously.

Draco stepped in front of Hermione. "You're not coming anywhere near her," he snarled.

Hermione swatted Draco's arm. "Calm down, Harry's just having a bad night." She walked over to Harry. "Are you all right? What are you doing here?"

Harry's eyes practically bugged out of his head. "What am I doing here?" he asked, floored. "What am _I _doing here? You and Malfoy are…" Harry shook his head in disbelief.

Finally, Harry raised his hand to the rock where Ron and Hermione had been sitting a short time ago. "You two. Sit. Explain."

Harry must have looked sufficiently scary enough that they both obeyed at once. Hermione settled herself daintily on the rock, but Draco's reaction was most astonishing: He yelped as soon as his arse had come in contact with the seat and shot up like a rocket. He put his hand on his backside and winced slightly.

"I think I'll stand."

It was a good thing Harry was staring in shock at Malfoy, because he missed Hermione's wickedly knowing grin.

"This is it," said Harry, his voice filled with a desperate sort of edge. "I have had it…First my stuff starts disappearing …all bloody week I've been thinking that I'm going crazy… but this is definitely the craziest thing I've ever seen in my life. I must be losing it. It's the only explanation."

Draco let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, bloody hell, I'd nearly forgotten. Look, Potter," he said. "Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and I have been Summoning your stuff and hiding it around the school. You're not losing it."

Hermione shot Draco a disapproving glare and Harry looked mad enough to spit nails. "You bastard, Malfoy!" he spat. "You stole my stuff?"

"Yep," said Draco, with no trace of contrition.

"And what about Hermione?" demanded Harry angrily.

Draco put his hands on her shoulders. "Yes, I've stolen her as well," he announced.

"Oh, do stop it, Draco. He hasn't stolen me, Harry. But Draco and I are…well, Harry - you might want to sit down for this…."

Hermione was never truly worried, even as looks of confusion and rage stole over Harry's face. She knew he'd come around eventually, as would Ron, as would everyone… Hermione had always believed in being optimistic, and she would need every ounce of that now as she embarked on a relationship with the most bitterly sarcastic man she had ever met in her whole life.

"You're kidding!"

"No," said Ginny, laughing and shaking her head. "I'm not."

"You sent him a singing valentine?"

"Well, I was much younger and stupider and I was hopelessly in love with him at the time. Which I'm not now," she qualified.

Blaise shook his head. "That's too funny." He stared at her, giggling with her chin resting on her tucked-up knees. "Thanks for staying with me. It was nice of you."

"Well, someone had to. You couldn't fly, and you couldn't do any magic because your wrist was broken."

Blaise flashed her a devilish grin. "I'll tell you a secret."

"Oh, I love secrets," said Ginny impishly.

"I'm left-handed." Ginny shrieked in false indignation but it almost immediately turned into laughter.

"Why did you say…?"

"I didn't, I just didn't bother to correct your mistaken assumption."

"I suppose that's true," said Ginny.

"You know," said Blaise, "your hair is so lovely. The exact shade of blood."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "That's rather a dark compliment."

Blaise shrugged. "I am part-vampire, you know," he said with dignity.

Ginny shivered. "You are?" she asked him excitedly. Merlin, that was sexy, she thought to herself.

Blaise stared at her as though Christmas and his birthday had both come early this year. Then he parted his mouth and licked his tongue over his upper teeth slooooowly, slooowly.

Ginny gasped in delight. She had never in her life seen anything that sexy.

"Tis December at Hogwarts, quite windy and cold

As the story is done being read, being told.

You've seen poor old Harry, confused and much-hassled

And I think you'll agree he's sufficiently frazzled.

Ron and Herm both get some Slytherin lovin'

And Ginny and Blaise (c'mon! Who saw that coming?)

Now you've finished the fic and you've finished your tea

I hope that you're wrapped in your blanket snugly,

I hope that you liked it, ('twas great fun to write)

Season's Greetings to all – **_and to all, a good night!_**


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